


Hope is a Four Letter Word

by storyspinner70



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Short One Shot, Top Dean, Wincest Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 06:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11846094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyspinner70/pseuds/storyspinner70
Summary: Wincest Writing Challenge: (August - Songs) | @mybrothercomesfirst vs. @nisaki-chan vs. @storyspinner70Prompt: Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi (No Rest For The Wicked)Rating: Explicit | Wordcount: 656 |Tags/Warnings: #wincestwritingchallenge, #canondeath, #wincest, #mostlycanoncompliantexceptthebrotherfucking, #nsfw, #somuchangst, #top!dean, #bottom!samWarnings for major canon character death, wincest, top!dean, bottom!sam, language, implied violenceSummary: Death waits for no man. Not even Dean Winchester.





	Hope is a Four Letter Word

But that was the way of things, wasn’t it? Rain or snow or sun or goddamn hail. Another town that wasn’t their own. Not that they had one, really, but if they did, it wouldn’t be this one – holiday spots for children with the world torn to shreds in the palms of their tiny hands didn’t make for good homes.

Another group of demons. All but one gone. Hours that ticked by like countless hours before. Same day. Same way. They’d always end up right here.

_It's all the same, only the names will change_

 

They’d fucked last night, as many times and ways as they could. Sam holding Dean down, barely moving – nothing but the twisting of his hips and the pulsing twitch of Dean’s cock inside him to get them close. Dean returned the favor, Sam held still by the weight of Dean’s body, the slow churn of Dean’s dick and his gravel rough voice pouring filth from Dean’s mouth to Sam’s cock.

Both pretended to sleep after, Dean inside his brother until it became too uncomfortable for them to hold on, and then a few minutes more.

“If you didn’t love me so much,” Sam whispered to the dark. “This never would have...”

“It’s been too late for that since the day you were born, Sammy. It was always going to end like this. Coulda been you. I’m glad it’s me.”

“There’s still time...”

“Yeah, Sammy, yeah. There’s still time.”

Lies never make things easier when you know they’re lies.

 

If they were coming for him anyway, Dean would make the most of the time he had left. It was as simple and as complicated as that. He wouldn’t be the only one seeing the lights of hell that night.

_I play for keeps, 'cause I might not make it back_

 

Every tick of a clock they pretended to ignore dragged Dean one step closer to a heart that would never beat again. He had forbidden goodbyes but they were there in every breath anyway. It was there when they were screaming at the top of their lungs and calling it singing – hurt frozen like raindrops in the snow, waiting for the hours to go.

 _I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride_  
_I'm wanted dead or alive_  
_Wanted dead or alive_

Maybe Dean thought Sam wouldn’t notice he was singing alone suddenly. He did.

It felt like practice.

They always did pretend better than they did anything but love each other.

 

Then Dean stood there, blade buried in a cop’s face, the man’s real one hidden to everyone but the condemned. Bobby explained that, calm and straight, hiding the pain of a child almost gone with a voice cracked right down the middle – dad in everything but name and blood.

They found where they were meant to be. Bobby’s redemption covered the grass like rain. It wasn’t enough.

Hours left. Minutes. Seconds. Hope splintered with the bodies on the floor.

“What am I supposed to do?” boomeranged through the room hours longer than it should.

It was still echoing while Dean was dragged along the ground like a chew toy – door opened wide by the little girl devil wearing a demon’s skin – executioner cloaked in the savior’s face.

You don’t have to stop breathing to die. Sam was proof of that.

He stopped speaking to Bobby the moment “hunter’s funeral” left Bobby’s mouth. Sam buried Dean himself, Dean’s amulet around his neck and a soul deep sorrow in his eyes.

 _Sometimes I sleep, sometimes it's not for days_  
_And the people I meet always go their separate ways_  
_Sometimes you tell the day_  
_By the bottle that you drink_  
 _And times when you're alone all you do is think_

 

Dean suffered, screaming for someone that would never come, no matter how hard he wanted to.

_Another place where the faces are so cold  
I'd drive all night just to get back home_


End file.
